I
The Personification of Punk Rock
“Stop.”
The black haired boy did as ordered, folding his hands behind his head and spreading his legs shoulder width apart for the third time. The pat down was much shorter (thank the gods) but every moment felt stretched out into an hour when he was so close to freedom.
“I can’t believe they let you keep that,” The patter pointed to the blue streak in the boy’s hair. The boy shrugged. “He’s all good,” the faceless officer nodded to his escorts, who gave the juvenile a nudge to keep moving.
When he got to last room before the exit to the facility, they handed him a bag of things he barely remembered he ever owned.
“Check to see if it’s all there.”
Obediently, the green haired boy dug around in the bag. Cell phone, iPod, a pen, some random business cards, a gum wrapper. His hands closed around a familiar box, and he actually looked inside to see if it was actually what he thought it was.
“You left my smokes?”
“You’re legal now,” The guard shrugged. “We leave it to the mothers to handle that sort of thing.”
The boy hummed, dropping the half empty pack back into the bag and slinging the strap onto one shoulder. “That’s everything.”
“Alright,” The other escort stopped him for the last time right in front of the door, reviewing the list on his clipboard. “You know how this is supposed to go. You’ll have the tracker,” He motioned to the bulk on his ankle, “for a year. Which means you get a max of a mile out of the city, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The officer will drive you to the apartment you’ll be living in for an indefinite period of time. Most of your belongings have been moved there already. Your handler will visit you twice a month to see how everything’s going.”
“Got it.”
“And,” He paused. “You’ve been offered your old part time job back.” The boy hadn’t expected that. “Which you will need to be able to support yourself. Lastly, you’ve been signed up for a support group.”
His blank expression faltered. “A support group?”
“It is completely optional.” The officer added. “You have the choice of how many times to go, if at all. But, Percy,” He looked up from the paper. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
“Thanks, Officer Blofis,” Percy replied. “But for now, I think I just want to get out of these two years unwashed clothes.”
Both escorts cracked a smile at that. “Take care of yourself, you hear?” Blofis held the door open for the boy as he stepped out into the hot desert.
He put his hands up behind his head again, taking slow and precise steps to the prison gate. The four officers on guard watched him with keen eyes until he made it, then locked the door behind him. The taxi was already outside.
Percy got in and thanked mankind for inventing air conditioning.
“Percy Jackson?” The driver grunted, glaring at the boy through the rearview mirror.
“That’s me.”
“Hmm,” He made a noise of acknowledgement before starting up the car and rolling down the road.
Percy was glad he didn’t have to hold a conversation with anyone else for now. The morning had already been so taxing, what with the lenient sentence almost barely passing and than all the surprise tests they’d pulled on him throughout the day.
YOU ARE READING
trigger warning (Percy Jackson au)
Fanfiction"So you didn't do the do?" "No." "Not even a little bit?" "No." "Did you kiss?" "Why are you not in the least weirded out that you're talking about your own brother?" shippings:...
